


One Perfect Moment

by jdjunkie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-29
Updated: 2011-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/pseuds/jdjunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a moment, a single moment when they make love, that Jack waits for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Perfect Moment

There’s a moment, a single moment when they make love, that Jack waits for.

He’s waiting now, watching, ready to make his move when he sees it.

It’s not predictable in its timing. It’s not as reliable as “insert tab A into slot B and C happens.” Daniel’s response is never by the book, even if it’s a book he’s written, complete with a dedication that reads, “For Jack, who is mine as I am his.”

They’re in their new bed in their new house and already it’s seen more action than Daniel’s apartment bed saw in three years, or so Daniel said when he pushed Jack down into the already-rumpled sheets half an hour ago.

Jack breathes deeply, lets his gaze roam over Daniel’s body. Daniel’s stunning, sweat-sheened body that is moving above him in a rhythm of Daniel’s making. Daniel’s abs ripple and contract in a seductive ebb and flow as he moves on Jack’s lube-slicked cock; up and down, controlled, sure, steady. He’s riding him hard, back arching slightly as he shifts the angle to take him deeper. Unbelievably fucking sexy.

Jack thinks of pre-flight check procedures, counts from 100 backwards, gets to 96 bottles of beer on the wall, tries and fails to think of anything but coming because he hasn’t seen it yet - that moment - and he’s not coming until he sees it.

Daniel shudders, moans, throws his head back, says, “Oh, christ, Jack, yeah, yeah, fuck, hnnnng.” The linguist losing the fallatus to speak properly is a thing of beauty. Jack smiles. Any time now ...

Jack allows his eyes to graze Daniel’s body some more. It’s never a hardship and it never gets old, even though he knows this body as well as he knows his own. He knows and loves every scar, every imperfection, which all go to make his body more beautiful and achingly vulnerable. Perfect imperfection. Jack loves it, craves it, needs it.

“Ahh, push. Harder, harder, fuck me, hard, make me feel it. Jack ... come on ...”

Oh, getting pushy, getting demanding, getting there.

Jack grunts, hits 88 bottles of beer and pushes in deeper, harder, faster. Daniel’s given up control. They’re jolting to Jack’s rhythm now. It’s a seamless shift of the dynamic. It happens as thoughtlessly as they share a bottle of Bud without wiping the rim. It happens. Naturally. Easily.

And, oh, this feels so fucking good. He’s at 75 bottles and counting and he thinks if he fucks Daniel any harder he’ll lose himself in there, lose himself in Daniel. And god, who is he kidding ... he did that years ago. Years before three days ago, when he married Daniel before any deity who may have been watching, along with the people they call family.

Jack closes his eyes and remembers Daniel holding him close when Jack’s tears spilled as he struggled with his vows. “I love you, you sentimental old bastard. Just get through this and Walter’s speech and I promise we’ll go home and spend our fucking honeymoon doing nothing but fucking.” And Jack had smiled, pulled away and said the words.

Words seem to be deserting them both now.

Jack opens his eyes. He can’t afford to wallow in memory if he’s to catch the moment. There’s a low moan coming from Daniel’s throat. It’s continuous, sexy as hell and sends an immediate “Push right in hard and stay there, hard, hard” message to Jack’s cock.

Daniel is touching himself, playing with his leaking cock with his right hand; three fingers stroking his own cock flat against his belly. In contrast, his other hand is lazily sweeping figures of eight across his own chest, the backs of his fingers grazing tight, erect nipples.

“Yeah,” Jack says, harsh and low. “Yeah, Daniel, play with yourself. Touch. Let me see that.”

“Yeah,” Daniel echoes on a quiet breath. He pinches a nipple, bites his bottom lip to conceal a brief flash of delicious, sharp pain. Jack sees it and his cock hardens and twitches and Daniel lets out a stifled, “Fuck” as Daniel feels it inside.

Jesus, Daniel, I’ve gotta come soon, baby, please just ...

And there it is.

Daniel arches his back further and holds still, so still that his body resonates with the tremors in his muscles, and, in total contrast, his mouth goes lax. Jack has no idea how he does that. How one part of his body acts in counterpoint to the rest. But it does. Daniel breathes out, once, twice, makes a beautiful sound that is a cross between “Ah” and “Oh” and he smiles. It’s a smile that says, “I made it. I’m here. You’re here. Look at what you do to me. I love you.”

It’s a smile of relief and affirmation, and it’s a smile that only Jack ever sees.

That perfect moment, when Daniel is at peace with himself and in love with Jack, is all Jack needs. He grunts a warning and shoots hard and high up into Daniel. Again and again. His body curls in on itself - the pleasure is almost too much - and he feels Daniel’s hand on the back of his neck, petting, stroking, supporting and holding him in place.

“Watch me, watch me,” Daniel whispers, breathlessly, urgently. So he watches Daniel come; sees the semen spurt in white stripes, coaxed from Daniel’s body by shaking fingers. His cock is so, so beautiful. Jack wants to cradle and adore it. He longs to take it in his mouth and kiss it to softness. Instead, he burns the sight into his retinas to hold forever, superimposed over the curve of smile. That smile. The one that says everything about how much Jack is loved and wanted.

Daniel’s orgasm goes on and on and it moves and delights Jack, just as it does every single time. Daniel is still moaning his completion when he strokes Jack’s neck for one last time and lets go, allowing Jack to ease down into the bed, head resting on a scrunched-up pillow.

After the last shivers of orgasm race through Daniel, the need for Jack to get closer is insistent. So he strokes Daniel’s side in a familiar signal, and Daniel slowly lifts himself off.

Jack’s breath catches a little as Daniel disengages. The sense of loss is not unexpected, but he’s always surprised how hard it hits him. Every time.

Daniel collapses on him like a discarded ragdoll, all uncoordinated arms and legs and breath and sweat, and oh god, it’s fucking wonderful. Jack hauls him in and pulls the sheet over them, knowing they’ll both sleep and probably wake cold and achy.

Jack smiles into Daniel’s sweat-soaked hair and kisses the top of his head. “Love you,” he whispers. And he feels Daniel smile into his chest; feels the sweet curve of lips against his shivery skin. Another smile. A different one. They’re all good. It’s all good.

A fucking perfect honeymoon spent fucking. Yeah.


End file.
